Culture Blogs


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Culture Blogs

Popular subjects in contemporary Pagan culture and practice.

Category contains 2 blog entries contributed to teamblogs

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Song of the Crow Man

he wold com to my hows top in the shape of a crow, or lyk a dear or in any uther shap now and then, I wold ken his woice at the first heiring of it, and wold goe forth to him and hav carnall cowpula[tio]n w[i]th him 

  [Scottish witch Isobel Gowdie, of the Devil (1662)]

For just a moment, I thought that somehow I'd driven onto a set from Hitchcock's The Birds.

Sunset, Christmas Eve 2000. In the stillness of the Yule-frith, the only things moving were me and the stoplights, as I drove to work in downtown Minneapolis.

And the crows. Thousands of crows, literally, filling the trees that lined Park Avenue. Hundreds, raucous black fruit, in each tree, silhouetted against the sunset sky. 

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs

Crystal configurations are varied and many. What do I mean by "configuration"? Crystal configurations are the different shapes of quartz crystal, named according to:

Facets (placement, number of edges) such as:

Transmitter, Dow, Channeler or Channeling, Isis, Eight Sided Face and Windows;

b2ap3_thumbnail_config-facets.png

Projections (crystals penetrating one another) such as:

Inner Child, Bridge and Manifestation;

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs

I just wrote a whole post on Ferguson, white privilege, and racism. It was all about overt and institutionalized racism and the difficulty of seeing your own privilege. It recognized my own privilege as a white man and asked people of color to have patience with those of us who have a melanin deficiency as we try to figure out how to handle these successive rounds of evidence of systemic racism in society. Then I threw it out.

It was way too “Great White Father.” I was speaking to the white community, not the African-American community, but it still smacked of power and privilege. I can afford to sit down and think about these things because they don’t affect me. That’s privilege.

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Recent Comments - Show all comments
  • Tim Titus
    Tim Titus says #
    I'm with you, and all I suggest is that we talk with rather than over each other.
  • Linda Pardue
    Linda Pardue says #
    The thing is while I can't completely empathize with the current climate's situation - I CAN empathize with the fear for their chi
  • Lizann Bassham
    Lizann Bassham says #
    Love your pentacle of activism!
Source: Wikimedia Commons.
Police officers using tear gas during the first wave of the Ferguson unrest. Source: Wikimedia Commons.

I was twenty-one when I took a Greyhound across the country into Maine.  It was a long and brutal trip, and I was travelling from BC; so I was on the bus for five full days.  Needless to say, on Day Five, when I went through Niagara Falls and Buffalo, NY, I was exhausted and hoping to get some sleep, so I pretended that I was sleeping and guarded the seat beside me jealously.

But the bus was really crowded; packed like sardines.  And so eventually, because I present like a tough cookie but am actually a marshmallow, I invited a young man to sit beside me.

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  • Carol P. Christ
    Carol P. Christ says #
    I could not agree with you more. We have to be taught to hate and fear and no one wants to kill others, until taught. Our white ex
  • Sable Aradia
    Sable Aradia says #
    It sure would be nice if we could remember how not to want to kill each other. Thanks for your thoughts!
  • Joan Stringer
    Joan Stringer says #
    Sadly it is becoming apparent that violence is an increasing part of our lives in North America. Even if you haven't been personal
  • Sable Aradia
    Sable Aradia says #
    When I was six, I used to take off on my bike to the beach in the summer with a couple of bucks in my pocket to buy lunch at the c

Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Birth Tree

In her memorable novel Reindeer Moon, Elizabeth Marshall Thomas tells a harrowing tale of a winter birth in Ice Age Siberia. As Yanan, seven winters old, is traveling with her family between winter lodges, her mother goes into labor. While the family makes camp, Yanan's mother goes off alone to find a suitable birthing-place. (Since predators are drawn to the smell of blood, to give birth in camp would endanger everyone.)

She finds herself a spruce with a good, strong trunk to brace her back against, low protecting branches, and ample duff to absorb the birth fluids. She builds a fire for what warmth and protection it can offer, crouches against the bole of the tree—squatting is the natural birthing-position for humans, with Earth herself helping to pull the baby from the womb—and prepares herself for a long night.

Thomas knows whereof she speaks. As a young woman in the 1950s, her anthropologist parents took her and her siblings to the Kalahari Desert to live with the !Kung, among the very last of Earth's hunter-gatherers. Her personal experience and careful observation of Bushman culture lend her stories of the Eurasian Ice Age a noteworthy sense of authenticity.

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Posted by on in Culture Blogs
Dancing the Carol

The first carols were not songs, nor were they specific to Yule.

For pagan religion is preeminently danced religion.

“Carol”* originally meant a round dance (one of the first recorded uses of the word in English—from 1330—referred to a “carol of the stones,” i. e. a stone circle**), and specifically a ring-dance performed to sung rather than instrumental accompaniment. (They say that when it wasn't safe to have musical instruments at the sabbat, we danced there to songs and mouth-music instead. At the sabbat, you can't not dance.)

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  • Linette
    Linette says #
    Thank you for this! one thing I miss as a currently solitary (I live far removed from civilization) is the dance. It is a magical

Posted by on in Culture Blogs

b2ap3_thumbnail_256px-Moreau_Europa_and_the_Bull.jpgThough Terebus knew it was the time of his death, he gathered gifts of abundance to give each person. These were gifts that would help pass the cold season until he would return again: clay for making bowls, reeds for making baskets, glass and beads, paint and songs. Even knowing that he was to die, he pranced and tossed his horns, jingling the bells that had been tied there. When all the gifts were gone, he came and stood before Tellus, in her dark domain, mother of the soil who limits us all.

She spoke, “Terebus, we have spent and built, created and sold, grown and developed for a season. Now it is time to rest, to assess what we have done, to cherish what we have created, to enjoy the fruits of our labors.”

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